


Must have been the wine

by KieraRutherford



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunkeness, F/M, Teasing, slightly nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:18:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieraRutherford/pseuds/KieraRutherford
Summary: You've been trying to speak to him for months now, maybe a little wine will help?





	Must have been the wine

You’ve been trying for weeks to garner his attention, but every time you seem to make progress, something pops up. You knew he was something incredible when you first laid eyes on him at Haven, but shell shock, and a myriad of tasks kept you apart. Only once did you get the nerve to ask him about his role as a templar, and those ‘vows’ you’d heard about. When his eyes lit up and he stammered, you were sold. 

After Haven fell you immediately felt relief that he was unharmed. His face was the first your bleary eyes saw at the small camp in the mountains. Then Solas promised you a fortress, and what a fortress is was. But there was work to do. Wounded, crumbling structures, animals of all kinds and between the advisors and your friends there was time for nothing else. 

“I am glad you made it out.” The way he said it was soft and his face bore something of fear. You had hoped beyond hope that you weren’t reading into it. But time and again you were unable to move forward from there. Reports and the odd meeting with you advisors was all the time you had. That is until that night. You claim to many you have no idea what they speak of and you have no memory of it, but you do. Maker’s breath you do. It was the courage you needed to go to him, to push the border you thought laid between you. 

After a few tankards of ale, you were feeling wonderfully giddy but that usual burn that sat low in your belly was calling. Begging for release and your mind wanted no other option but him. Drinking down the last of your mug, you’d tossed a few coins on the table and proudly proclaimed you were going to, ‘finally do it.’ With the icy cool breeze in your face you crossed the battlements. All the while that warm feeling continuing to assault your senses and warm your thighs. You could see him in your minds eye. That golden hair upon his head, always so neatly kempt. His copper eyes that seemed to pierce through you and undress you, slowly. You thought that had to be it, especially when he mixed it with that devilish smirk. It was always slightly lopsided, the scar upon his lip having damaged some of the muscle that held it up. Your mind floated to his lips. How you’d wished to kiss those lips, feel them against your own, explore his mouth. 

Reaching the top of the stairway you paused for a brief moment, courage beginning to wick away with the cold. ‘I could always pretend I was drunk and don’ t remember’ you rationalize, just in case he says no. Brushing your messy hair back away from your face you take in one last deep breath before you put your best Inquisitor face on. Pushing through his door without warning, you walk straight to his desk where he is busy writing away. You nearly halt in your tracks. He had discarded his armor and was sitting in only a loose pair of linen pants.

“Inquisitor?!” He half bolted upright from his desk and for a moment your brain completely went blank. Instead you were glued to his body. Drinking in those defined abs, how his hips are sharp and that trail of darker, course hair leading down into his pant line. There are scars, faint and silvery but right now you are thinking more along the lines of how sinful it would be to see those abs crunch and contrast as he fucks you right upon his desk. “Uh…” you try your damnedest to break your mind back to what your plan was but there’s no hope.

Your feet have continued to carry you, the entire time, and you are nearly on top of him by the time he asks again if you are alright. Something you’ve completely ignored. His cheeks are flushing red, specks of pink dusted his chest, edging about the spun gold hairs that pepper his pecks. Licking your lips, hunger takes hold. Pressing your hands into him, you send him back into his chair following on top of him. Eyes locked with his, you catch the exact moment shock is replaced with pleasure, with want. 

There you are, perched upon him like a Queen on her throne. His eyes flick down to your lips and you can feel him hardening underneath you. This motion, although involuntary is enough to spurn you forward. Slanting your head, you kiss him. All mess and fumbles but he kisses back. Your hand instantly come to his face and grazed through his hair and you moan loudly when he groans. You’re so close you can feel the rumble of his chest, against your own. Edging the seam of his lips with your tongue you half expect him to throw you off, his hands are clamped on your hips, finger tips digging into your flesh in a tease way. 

His bare fingertips pause at the edge of your shirt hem. Trembling against your skin. “Please, Cullen,” you purr in his ear and you can feel his hardness twitch against your molt core, the thin fabric separating you a curse in your mind. Suddenly, it’s over and he is wearing a look that makes you think of a small mabari pup. “Inqu… as much I… you are drunk, and this would be wrong of me.” 

You groan, loudly, a whine ending the utterance. “But…”

“Seek me out when you are sober. We shall talk then.” He carefully brushes some of your hair back from your face and places one last kiss upon your lips. “Maker you are too much…” you barely hear it, but it there and now seared into your memory. His eyes are closed, and you can see the strain in him. His utter control just holding on by a thread. There’s a playfulness to you that wants to push, that is dying to see this hulk of a man lose it. Absolutely lose it and ravish you till your legs can no longer stand. But there is an incredibly hurt in his eyes that softens your immediately. Cupping his jaw in your palm, you love the soft prickle of his day-old stubble. “Okay. Can I… Can I come back tomorrow?” 

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He purrs your title out, his eyes still deep pools of need but he has regained himself. Composed mostly back to the hard Commander you know so well. Gingerly, and awkwardly you get up off him, your bottom lip tight between your teeth. “Tomorrow.” You half whisper it before clumsily rounding his desk and rushing yourself out the front door to cross the bridge to the rotunda.

The next day there is chatter. How a drunk Inquisitor entered the Commander’s quarters late at night and how he was heard praying at the small Chantry chapel shortly after, before heading to the bathhouse. You snicker to yourself and wonder about what happened. You know. His lips are far softer than you could ever imagine and after handling several small claims upon your throne, you tuck a few missives under you arm. With your head held high, and cheeks a dusty rose, you march towards his tower. Knowing all to well that he kissed back. That despite everything, he was a gentleman. Pausing at his door you struggled to wipe the smirk off your face. Do you play the fool or cough up to it? 

Pushing through the door you see him staring at a pile of papers, his face cleanly shaven and armor on as per usual. “Commander, do you have a moment?” His grin makes your belly tighten and heat pool low, “for you, always.”


End file.
